Collateral Damage
by Pegasus
Summary: A post end of Deathly Hallows RonHermione piece.  Contains, unsurprisingly, DH spoilers.


**Disclaimer bit**

Not mine, JKR's/Warner Bros. property. No financial gain, purely for fun, wah wah wah wah. Contains spoilers for 'Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows'. Don't say you've not been told.

**Collateral Damage**

In the aftermath of the battle, they didn't really get the chance to speak to or even see one another for what felt like an eternity. Ron was instantly swept up by the rest of his family who both rejoiced and wept at the downfall of Voldemort. An undeniably great victory, yes, but at what cost?

Ron hadn't really or truly registered the fact that his brother was dead, not until the adrenaline finally flowed from his veins leaving him weary to the bones. It was then – and only then - with a sort of relentless, biting finality, the cold, hard facts stared him in the face. Quite literally, in fact. Cold, unseeing dead eyes looking up at the sky.

Fred.

At that cost.

His eyes sought out George. All their lives the twins had moved and acted as one and now that bond had been ripped apart. The walls of Ron's heart trembled slightly as he intuitively crossed to his older brother and put his arms around him in a wordless embrace.

Words weren't necessary and besides, he'd only say something inappropriate if he tried.

George, who was still in a dreadful state of shock was surprised at this uncharacteristic display of affection and automatically his arms came round Ron. For a few brief seconds, the brothers clung to one another, any sibling differences forgotten in the wake of the tragedy.

Releasing George into the care of Percy, Bill and Charlie who gently moved their brother away from his twin's lifeless body, Ron turned next to his mother who was still weeping. Quietly now, but with no less grief. A mother bereft.

It almost broke Ron's heart.

"He's a hero now, Mrs. Weasley," came a tired voice from Ron's right shoulder. "Nobody will ever forget what he sacrificed." He glanced around – and down – into Hermione's face.

She looked exhausted. There were dark circles beneath her eyes and her face had a pinched, drawn look. Her hair was matted with sweat and dirt and bits of twig and her clothes were dirty and torn.

He'd never seen her look more beautiful than at that precise moment.

Molly looked down at her dead son and with obvious effort reached across and closed the eyes.

"Goodnight, Fred," she whispered, biting her lip. "My little hero."

Finally, she got up from the floor and moved into Hermione's waiting arms. Hermione, smaller and lighter than Molly, nonetheless bore her burden with the same stoic pride and courage that she had shown over the course of the last few months.

Ron turned away, feeling awkward. This was one of those female moments at which he knew he wouldn't be welcome. Not yet, anyway.

Molly wept for several more minutes, and though Hermione's eyes were bright with tears of her own, she held them back. Ron suspected that there would be a torrential outpouring later.

Finally, Molly calmed down enough to allow Arthur to escort her into the refuge of Hogwarts. Everywhere, people were laughing, cheering, crying or standing in stunned shock.

Fred's body was borne away with due ceremony by Charlie and Bill. Ron watched stoically. There was still a tiny part of him that hoped Fred would sit up in a minute, sit up and laugh at them all for believing he was really dead, that it had been the _best_ joke he'd ever played on them…

But he didn't.

Seeking Ginny, Ron saw noted she was engaged in her own weeping, only hers wasn't with her family. Hers was with Harry. The two of them were in one another's arms, where they belonged. He understood that now. Ron now appreciated the bigger picture, that Harry's anxious need to get Ron's approval where Ginny was concern had said far more about their friendship than he'd ever understood.

This whole Horcrux hunt had made Ron look at the world in a very different way indeed.

It wasn't enough, he now realised, to simply wade in, wands blazing, and fight. Brawn wasn't enough. Brains were a requirement and Hermione had those. In spades.

Harry? He had both.

Ron had always felt a little under-qualified whenever he was with the other two. He'd never truly understood why Brave Harry and Brainy Hermione had put up with him.

She was sniffling a little now as she watched Fred's body disappear around the corner of the castle.

"At least your mum will be able to tell them apart now," she said, her voice shaking.

Ron felt instinctively that this was a time to be silent, to not pass any facetious comment. All his life he'd been the clown. He had been the one to break awkward moments up. The one who made people laugh. The one who asked questions. The counter to Hermione's seriousness. The counter to Harry's recklessness.

And that, he suddenly realised, with the impact of the bleeding obvious, was exactly where he fit in.

He held his arms out to Hermione.

"Come here, you."

She flew into his embrace and sobbed bitterly into his shoulder. His arms closed around her and he drew her into his warmth and protection. Like this, she was safe. Nobody could hurt her. She was safe, she was his to look after, and more importantly, he sensed she _wanted_ him to look after her.

One hand came up and stroked her hair softly.

"It's alright," he whispered. "It's over now. New beginnings and all that. Well, not for Fred, obviously…"

He broke off, horrified at his own lack of tact.

"Ronald Weasley…" Hermione pulled back enough so that she could look up at him. Her eyes searched his face just as he looked down at hers. Her tears had left clean tracks through the dirt on her face.

"You're beautiful," he said, spontaneously. It was so honest and so unexpected, that a faint patina of pink touched Hermione's grubby cheeks.

"I'm not," she said.

"You are," he repeated, insistently. "And I should have said all this stuff to you ages ago, but there was never a right time and now probably isn't the right time either but if I don't say it now I don't know when I'll…"

He paused for breath at the same moment she lifted her finger to his lips.

"Don't talk," she said. "Just kiss."

Their first kiss had been spectacular, if a little panicked. _This_ kiss, however, was going to be something else. Everything Ron had read in preparation for this moment was neatly parcelled up and sent flying out the window. Although not with Errol, obviously, because it'd never get anywhere.

_Ron Weasley, why are you thinking about an owl at a time like this?_

He _really_ held in low esteem his inner monologue.

"Kiss," he said, awkwardly. "Right. Yeah. Kiss."

"Oh, Ronald."

And she kissed _him_.

It was the sort of kiss that changed the way Ron Weasley felt about himself for ever after. The sort of kiss that, when it finally ended, left both of them with stunned expressions of their faces. The sort of kiss that could never, ever be repeated. A once in a lifetime kiss.

Or at least a once in a five-minute period kiss.

Finally, Ron put his arm around Hermione in what was starting to become a familiarly protective way. She didn't resist, merely rested her head on his shoulder.

"Will you come back to the Burrow with us?" he asked, softly. "I'm not sure but I reckon Mum might need you."

"Just your mum?"

"Well, all of us, really."

"Ron?"

"Alright, me. I need you."

"That's better." She patted his cheek with great affection. "We're off to a good start."

She slid her hand into his and took a deep breath.

"Let's go," she said, softly.

© S Watkins, 2007


End file.
